


Apsconditum

by Ignis (wingblade)



Series: In girum imus nocte et consumimur igni [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, M/M, Minor Gladiolus Amicitia/Prompto Argentum, Pining, Sex Tapes, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Texting, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 02:02:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15571284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingblade/pseuds/Ignis
Summary: With shaking hands, Prompto brings the cup to his lips. “Gladio’s gonna kill me. Gonna kill me, man. I guess if it’s by him, then...small blessings, right?”Before Noctis can press him yet again to explain the situation, Prompto fiddles with his phone, then hands it to his friend.“I’m...I’m really sorry, Noct.”Continuation ofPerspicillum.





	Apsconditum

**Author's Note:**

> Things got dramatic real quick. Please let me know if I need to modify the tags in any way!
> 
>  **Part two** : an unexpected secret is revealed.

Midway through summer, on one of Noctis’ favorite days, he is lying on his couch, listening to the loud hum of his air conditioner. It is a Friday, the day of the week where he and Prompto hang out, then end the night by touching each other as they close their eyes and imagine the sounds of faraway voices. That is how the day is supposed to end, at any rate; Noctis has not heard from Prompto all day, except for the text messages he received earlier this morning.

Friday 11:37 AM  
Prompto: _hey idk if youre awake yet_  
Prompto: _lmao im guessing not_  
Prompto: _so gladio wanted to show me something so i just wanted to let you know_  
Prompto: _ill make it up to you ok?_

Despite being blown off — that is what it feels like, at least — Noctis is happy for his friend. The man he adores asked to spend time with him to “show him something,” whatever that meant. Knowing Gladio, it was probably a poor attempt at asking Prompto out; a ploy that Gladio, in all likelihood, found quite clever. Unbeknownst to Gladio, Prompto would do anything for him.

For now, it is just Noctis and his air conditioner as it wheezes along, fighting to remain functional. He has been dozing off and on all day, his dreams leaving his skin sweaty when he awakens, but he can never recall what he dreamt of. The images are out of reach, but so close he can see their faded remnants when he closes his eyes. After many hours’ worth of sweat has accumulated on his shirt, a small lake worth of it seeping into its fibers, he takes it off and tosses it across the room for Ignis to clean up the next time he comes over.

A knock at the door breaks him out of his cycle — sleep, wake up, wonder why he is so sweaty, sleep some more — and he puts an arm across his eyes, willing away even the smallest fraction of light, as well as whoever is at the door. If it is important, he would have received a text, and his close friends have spare keys in cases of emergencies, anyways. But the knocking persists, and he grunts loudly, hoping the visitor hears it and somehow has decided not to be such a bother.

When Noctis opens the front door, he is surprised to see Prompto standing before him, his hands nervously pulling at the hem of his shirt. Before Noctis can ask why he had not bothered to text him, Prompto barrels past him into the apartment.

“Um. Sorry,” Prompto mumbles. “I kind of forgot my key, and it’s an emergency, but not that kind of emergency, you know?”

“Hey.” Noctis touches his shoulder. “You’re shaking. What happened?”

Prompto will not meet his eyes. He turns from Noctis, then turns again; his feet dancing on the carpet as he collects his thoughts.

“It’s...it’s Ignis.”

“Is he okay?” Noctis’ brow tightens. “What happened to Ignis?”

“He’s...fine,” Prompto says as Noctis leads him over to the couch, pressing on his shoulder lightly to make his friend sit down. Even then, Prompto’s breath is erratic and quick; his chest heaving as he speaks. “Oh, gods, he’s more than fine.”

Late afternoon is slipping into evening as the room darkens, foreboding in its shift. Prompto is silent for a few moments as Noctis stands to pour him a glass of water, his eyes darting between his friend and his task.

“Yeah, he is pretty hot," Noctis jokes, trying to ease Prompto's agitation as he hands him the glass. "But can you start from the beginning?”

With shaking hands, Prompto brings the cup to his lips. “Gladio’s gonna kill me. Gonna kill me, man. I guess if it’s by him, then...small blessings, right?”

Before Noctis can press him yet again to explain the situation, Prompto fiddles with his phone, then hands it to his friend.

“I’m...I’m really sorry, Noct.”

A large play button is displayed on the screen, a triangle enmeshed within a circle. Noctis taps it without thinking too much, his mind racing with possibilities. The video begins without so much as a preamble; Noctis’ eyes dart across the screen as the scene unfolds before him.

At first, Ignis’ body takes up the majority of the screen as the camera shakes, clearly filmed via someone’s cell phone judging from the orientation of the video, and someone nervous, at that. Noctis supposes his hands would be shaking, too, if Ignis were on his hands and knees before him, like he is in the video. Naked, with strands of hair stuck to his face from sweat; his silver skull necklace still draped around his neck like usual, but every movement of Ignis’ body propels it forward, swinging in mid-air to slam back against his chest.

 _Someone’s fucking him,_ Noctis realizes. If the motion of his pivoting hips or his pleasure-stricken face had not been enough to convince Noctis, the view of the now zoomed-out camera would have been more than enough. From the size of the screen, Noctis cannot determine whether the man behind — and inside — Ignis is anyone he knows, or anyone he has happened to come across on the street. The moment is brief, and the bite of rage passes as Noctis looks back at Ignis, who is still somehow wearing his glasses, despite the harsh meeting of flesh on flesh.

Noctis closes his eyes, and he recalls his dreams from earlier; mere minutes before Prompto had knocked on the door. Now faced with such a vivid representation of his fantasies, he can no longer deny them to himself: they consisted of events much similar to those shown in the video, although the man with Ignis was no stranger, and Noctis was able to move the gaze of the camera freely. It is a thought that sobers Noctis, who snaps his eyes open, attempting to hand the phone back to his friend. Noctis has seen enough — more than he ever wanted to, at least like this — but his hands refuse to move, and Prompto is not attempting to relieve him of his burden.

A few more men enter the scene unfolding before him; it might be three or so, but Noctis barely registers more than their entrance. One man is in front of Ignis, and he runs a finger along his lower lip, to which Ignis responds by opening his mouth, his eyes shut as if every sight before him is entirely too wicked or entirely too pleasurable.

Noctis drops the phone. It is the only thing he can think of to do, other than throw it, and that would have been much more disrespectful of his friend’s property. At his feet, the video plays on, and Noctis is glad he never thought to turn on the video’s sound. While the images he saw will haunt him every time he closes his eyes, hearing the sounds would have been much worse.

On the couch, Prompto is sitting with his knees at his chest, his eyes staring at the nothingness of the wall. Noctis sits beside him, mimicking his stare at the blank canvas, and he wonders if Prompto is thinking about Gladio; if Gladio has any deep, dark secrets like this, or worse, if he has video evidence of it, too.

“So this is what Gladio wanted to show you,” Noctis says after a few minutes.

Prompto clenches his glass of water tighter; he has not put it down since Noctis gave it to him, nor has he taken a second sip. He gulps it down hungrily now, as if parched. When he has run out of water, he wipes his mouth with a gloved hand.

“Yeah,” Prompto replies, nodding at the wall. “I dunno how he found it — something online? You could ask him, if you really wanted to, but…”

“Gladio doesn’t know you came to show me.”

Their eyes meet, and Prompto does not have to reply for Noctis to understand the tired look on his face.

“He’s not gonna be mad, you know.” Noctis props his feet up on the coffee table as the exhaustion caused by the last few minutes catch up to him. “I mean, probably, but it’s not like he’ll do anything about it.”

Prompto leans forward, setting his glass on the table near Noctis’ feet. Noctis is staring at it, as if it holds any sort of answer to their predicament, when Prompto quietly says, “I couldn’t take it if he yelled at me. I just couldn’t.”

 _If anyone deserves to be yelled at,_ Noctis thinks, _it’s Gladio._

Gladio, for not coming to Noctis with this information; Gladio, for not trusting Noctis to react in a healthy manner. Gladio, for thrusting this responsibility and guilt onto Prompto, who, out of all of them, deserved it the very least.

When Noctis stands, his eyes glance over Prompto’s phone. The large play button is once again plastered on the screen, but now Noctis knows it is foreboding, and not something he wishes to see. He picks up the phone and offers it to his friend.

“He might yell a little,” Noctis admits, “but he’ll understand. Who could stay mad at you, anyways?”

* * *

When the truth comes out a few days later, Gladio is indeed mad. He clenches his fists against his side, but when he opens his mouth to berate them, Noctis interrupts. He steps between his two friends so that he can shield Gladio’s eyes from the disappointment coating Prompto’s face; the particular defeat when feeling like he has let down the one he idolizes.

“I asked Prompto to see the video,” Noctis lies, then adds, “I made him show me.”

Gladio thins his eyes. “You’re taking this a lot better than I thought you would.”

“Well, what can I say?” Noctis thinks back to his hands clenching Prompto’s phone, almost tight enough to crack it, with sweat dripping down his neck and his heart racing; of dropping the phone and dreading the plain shapes of both circles and triangles, even now. “Looks like you underestimated my ability to handle things.”

Now everyone knows about Ignis’ sexual adventures, and everyone knows about each other knowing.

That is, of course, except for Ignis himself.


End file.
